I think the most beautiful thing about this life, is that everyone has a dream. And one of the most horrible things, is when people make you doubt your dream. That's not nice, is it?
So I feel so blessed that people not only support my dream- they fuel me towards it. It's like a big, heaving push on the swings at the park, that sends you high into the sky like a bird.
Last week, I began writing a new chapter for the war novel 'The Boy In The Striped Pyjamas'. We were given six options, and one of them required us to write another chapter of the novel. Of-course, knowing me, I wrote three chapters, not one.
I decided to add in a shocking twist, and plenty of raw emotion, etc. I spent hours on it, and by Thursday night, I had hand-written nine pages of my three alternative chapters to the book. I didn't think it was that great, but I liked it, and was proud of it nonetheless.
Later that night, I asked my mother to read it. "Did you write this?" she asked, sounding a little shocked. My mother is slowly making a habit of asking questions when the answers are alarmingly obvious.
No mum, I didn't write it. I just spent several hours drawing architectural sketches of the new hospital I'm going to build in Venezuela in my notebook.
Of-course I wrote it. You watched me.
"It's very good!" she remarked, in a tone that reassured me she really was impressed. "I can just imagine it, and it's so different from how the book really is. It's good!" she'd said.
My sister didn't bother reading it, as she hasn't read the book in the first place. I know she doesn't really want to though.
Mum asked me to print off an extra copy to show her best friend Sue. I like Sue. If it wasn't too late to make her my Godmother, I would ask mum to do it. Sue's lovely.
So I printed off an extra copy, and mum took it to work the next day. When she returned, she said, "I showed Sue your story. She said 'My God, this is brilliant! I got goosebumps reading it, it's fantastic.' "
"Really?" I replied, flattered and a little bit shocked. I didn't know anything I wrote ever gave anyone goosebumps. Apparently mum had also taken my piece to our social worker Karen, who's gradually becoming more like a family friend to us. Mum tells me Karen was amazed, and thought it was brilliant work for a year nine student, and that I have talent.
Then on Friday, as I added the finishing touches to the front cover of my piece, I asked my best friend to read it.
She hates english, and I know that it's partly because it's not her strongest subject. English doesn't make sense to her, the way math and numbers don't make sense to me. I don't hate math the way she hates english, but I think the fact that she's not so good at it, makes her feel even worse, hence her hatred for it.
I try and teach her things, and sometimes I think she learns more from me than from our teacher. But she still doesn't like it. I tell her she should read, and at least that will help expand her vocabulary, and assist her spelling, but she says books bore her, and she just doesn't like them.
So from then on, I made a silent pledge that one day, I would write a novel so amazing, it was engross her completely in the first chapter. It would mark the beginning of her new love of reading, and I would dedicate the book to her.
Anyway, I asked her to read my piece, and halfway through, she turned to me and said "That's what I like about what you write, I can see it in my head. I can just picture everything happening."
That, by itself said to me, You're a great writer, if you can make her fall in love with one of your pieces. If you can make her like reading, you're an amazing writer.'
So I submitted my writing piece to the teacher on Friday. I don't know if she'll like it. I don't know if I'll get a good mark. Maybe she'll find something wrong with my formatting, like she did last time.
But if people like what I write, then that's good enough for me. I'm going to keep writing. I'm going to write a novel soon. My very own one. I've started, just a few paragraphs. It'll get there soon. But right now, the rest is still un-written.
